“You are of the genus obstinate,” he said. She was dressed in a simple evening gown of soft creamy silk, with a yoke of dark old embroidery that enhanced the gentle gravity of her style, and her black hair flowed off her open forehead to pass under the control of a simple ribbon of silver. He came in with his hands in his trousers pockets and a general air of depression in his bearing. But it would serve. He had drawn a horrid picture of the fate that awaited mademoiselle when once the populace discovered her relationship to the Valade family.
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